Category: Lifestyle

You bet your ass it’s WrestleMania!! 1985 was the catalyst for what we know today as the WWE. While very dated and heavy on the cheese, this is where it all started and I couldn’t be drunker, I mean happier, than to witness history again. The stage is set as Hulk Hogan and Mr.T, yes that Mr.T, go up against the team of Rowdy Roddy Piper and “Mr. Wonderful” Paul Orndorff. Just picture it in your mind…
Shit. Wrong Mr. Wonderful. I watch way too much Shark Tank.

Interesting that the main event would start with a few trading slaps but that only leads to complete bedlam as all four men are in the ring at the same time!! Prepare for a lot of exclamation points in this post, simply for effect. To sweeten the pot Mohammed Ali is an outside official and is throwing haymakers to restore order. Exciting stuff right?!

It’s only fitting that I’m drinking Heavy Lifting by Boulevard Brewing. This IPA is a body slam to the tastebuds as this west coast take is hops on hops on hops. The 6.2% ABV is quite welcoming, but after a few of these you might feel like you just took a head butt from Jimmy Snuka!!

Wrestling sure has changed as only a few basic moves were needed to achieve greatness.

List of moves:

Head Butt

Hip Toss

Clothesline

Atomic Drop

Eye Gouge

Body Slam

Double Noggin Knocker (My Personal Favorite)

The Hulk was down but willed his way to a tag to Mr.T and the the proverbial roof came off Madison Square Garden!! A clothesline here and a head butt there to change the momentum and then a fresh Hogan was tagged into finish up the job!! After being in a full nelson, all hell broke loose and Cowboy Bob Orton came off the top rope to use his cast and…

Oh shit!!! He hit Orndorff!! He hit Orndorff!! Hogan with the pin…1…2…3!!!

The heavy lifting is done, pun intended, and the historic inaugural WrestleMania is finished. While 1985 seems like a million years ago, it’s the start of something and that something is #marchmania.

If it hasn’t been established yet then let it be known around the land:

Beer ye, Beer ye,

I doth proclaim my forbidden love with professional wrestling. I will watch every main event match for the corresponding fortnights that thus conclude currently at thirty two. I will also drink a pint of ale with every bout.

Sincerely,

Beer-enity Now!

*Aka I’m watching every Wrestlemania main event there has been, in order, while drinking beer and writing some running commentary.

Fun right??!!

What you gunna do when beer enity now tries to be funny while buzzed, runs wild on you…

Disclaimer: This idea has been brewing (get it?) for a while, so pardon my French.)

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just think the whole premise is a bit much. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some craft beer and would obviously prefer it over other beers, but if I hear something about a nail polish note again, I’m out.

Beer is great.We are all here for the love of beer, so why do we have to discriminate certain types of this lovely beverage. I could be way off on this one, but can you call yourself a real beer lover when you only like one type? I love beer and that means all beer and I think every beer has some sort of purpose for something. Do I want to drink 10% ABV Dogfish Head “Beer for Breakfast” stouts all day during a Pats game? Nope. I’ll take the so called “crap beer” all day. That’s another another thing, this stupid #craftnotcrap hashtag, are you really above certain beers? You’re telling me if you grew up before this craft beer boom, you wouldn’t just drink it? Once again…

But I call bullshit. Speaking of, I’ve heard someone on another craft beer podcast, that there wasn’t any craft at a sporting event and that “they only had cheap beer” so he just didn’t drink anything…WHHHHAAATTT?!?!?! (Almost flipped my car again.) This is a prime example of a beer snob that I just can’t jive with. I know many people that love and prefer craft beer but when push comes to shove, they would drink a Bud Light, and they were fine with it. You know why?? Because it’s beer and beer is magnificent.
Moving on to the beer jargon portion of my bitching, where there is also varying degrees of douchebaggery. I’ll always take a whiff of a beer before drinking, to see what I’m getting into, and then just drink the fucking thing, that’s the jist of my process. I don’t want a thick head, which just equals less beer for me, and the “hard pour” the kids are doing nowadays (yes I said kids, I’m 34 so I’m allowed) just fucks it all up and makes no sense to me. I’m not looking for “mouthfeel” or whether I should use the #properglassware, or worrying about if the “note” is between two different kinds of cherries or a green fucking onion, I’m looking to see if the beer tastes good, thats it. I don’t agree with all of that but you do you boo boo and I’ll be over here like…

This isn’t about craft beer or crap beer, this is just about beer. This is one of the many reasons this isn’t a craft beer only blog, because that’s not fun to me and it’s been done to death. Plus, times can get tough and paying $12 for eighteen Rockdale Lights instead of a sixer of Ballast Point is always a-ok with me. Im not trying to demean anybody here and I’m sure I’ll piss off some people but I’m here to drink beer, have fun, and hopefully make you chuckle because some people just take it too damn seriously.

P.S. In hindsight, this probably should’ve been my introductory post to you. If this is your first time reading this then now you know, welcome aboard.

I woke up today in a weird and sad mood, I haven’t the slightest idea why, but I knew I would need a jacket…

Bomber Jacket that is.

Get it?!

Today, my second Brewster Club box beer (say that three times fast) hails from Columbus, Indiana. I couldn’t tell you where that is but if I had to guess, I would say somewhere between Indianapolis and E. Bum Fuck. One thing I can tell you is this Copperhead Amber Ale by 450 North Brewing Company is quite sublime. It’s an amber through and through, in every aspect, and the smoothness lent itself perfectly to a quite crushable brew.

I decided to put on the “Blood Snake” jacket because well the beer was called Copperhead, no shit right?!

It’s 2017 and art, fashion, and style are infiltrating just about every “medium” there is…﻿

(See what I did there? Fashion…Medium…get it?!)

…and beer is now no exception. The art on these craft beer cans/bottles has upped the ante in making certain brews more sought after just because of the amazing art on them. This isn’t just a slap on a logo type deal, these breweries take their time and make the labels so eye catching that you (or maybe just I) just have to stop and say, “I must have you, you’re coming with me.” (As I read that back, it’s a little on the creepy side but you see what I’m getting at…I hope.) Cans and bottles are cool but what if you still want to make a statement on an 80 degree January day and you need to keep your beer cold but don’t want these bad boys?…

Well, a very smart man out of St.Louis came up with a sexy alternative that was inspired by the craft beer artwork that also works insanely better. Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you Bomber Jackets. Started in 2015 (MMXV), Alexander Nicolazzi was drinking a 22oz bomber of 4 Hands Brewing “Volume 3”. As the beer was getting warm he pondered, drank, pondered, drank some more, pondered some more, and thought…

Not really, but he did know there was a way to #saynotowarmbeer and the B-22 was born. When I saw them on a random Instagram session, I had to look into it. I’m all about keeping my beers cold and loved the artwork and the detail of these Bomber Jackets, I mean, they have a fucking zipper for crying out loud, I was hooked. Not only are there bomber sized but there are tall can size (C-16) which is great for all the amazing artful craft beer you can enjoy. Even better, you can look at cleavage!!!…

Yes, cleavage but not of the beautiful female persuasion, but the bottle and can variety…

Just clap your hands.

I know you all loved #dipadecember (fingers crossed) so with great pleasure I introduce to you, late as it may be, #jacketjanuary. I will be drinking some great beer in these genius vessels, while showing some of the crazy modern style that, I think, is the future. More styles and different size beverages will be accommodated such as B-12, C-32, and B-750. (Twelve ounce, crowler size, and 750ml size respectively.) All the information you need is right here:

Art, style, AND beer?!?!? Where do I sign up?? I just told you where to sign up… or order, in this case… so no excuse! You won’t be disappointed, and there can be plenty of not warm beer and cleavage for all.

What a slacker. Looks like James needed an extra years rest because for the first time in the series history, it has been 3 years in between films. He might’ve needed it as watching the first 10 minutes, he’s in a shoot out that I have to say looks totally realistic. Like insanely realistic, not completely fake at all, at all. (Is that sarcasm enough for you?)

He just bit through a chain!! For the love of god, he just bit through a chain!!

(Jim Ross. He’s a wrestling announcer. Look him up)

I now sit at a banquet and no, not that banquet, but the somewhat weirdly named beer of all the banquets, Coors Original. It’s not ice, it’s not light, it’s just plain old beer. I will not complain about this one. I said it and I meant it, I won’t complaint. I was once told by a wise man to embrace the contraction, thanks Mitch.

Seems like Mr.Bond has an ally in another spy, which he didn’t know was an ally who also was a spy, that also didn’t know James was an ally, who of course is a spy and…

In my opinion the Bond nemesis Mr. Karl Stromberg is a BAMF to say the least, I mean his underwater lair is like something out of a movie…

Wait?

Anyway he has a chrome mouthed henchmen* who is sort of like a vampire, because he kills people with his mouth, but they don’t turn into chrome mouths because that would obviously just be weird. This Roger Moore must up the ante, as he does with his amphibious car, only to scare the bejesus out of some unexpecting Italians. This fella Stromberg has quite the human armory and I’ve always thought how do these villains get all these guys? He’s already paid whatever the fuck for a giant submarine, so is he paying them off or just brainwashing them with gas, or?? Who knows but this question will forever intrigue me. Also, the seventies have no fully influenced the in movie soundtrack, which makes me a trite bit sad. ﻿

Stromberg dies by an under the table tube gun, metal mouth survives to hopefully return again, and James fucks to the end credits. Typical Bond if I do say so myself. Well, I don’t know if it’s all the water scenes or the 25 oz of Coors in my belly but I gotta hit the head, or in blog terms, this post is officially over.